


221 Bees

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, Birthday Presents, Established Relationship, M/M, Retirementlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had the idea in November. Keeping secrets from Sherlock was an art form and John was feeling game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	221 Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Practicefortheheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practicefortheheart/gifts).



> Birthday present requesting "some domestic fluffy retirement!lock?? (doesn't have to be retirement, but SUSSEX COTTAGE AND BEES <3)" - does it count as on time if i haven't gone to sleep yet since your birthday?

John had the idea in November. Keeping secrets from Sherlock was an art form and John was feeling game. Despite Sherlock’s continued assertions to the contrary, he did know how to hide his internet history from his husband, and began research and planning.

Neither of them tended to venture into the garden shed very often, except to retrieve the lawn mower situated conveniently right by the door. When he bought the drill and its various attachments, he made sure to mention it briefly to Sherlock and used it to hang a few pictures before letting it gather dust in the shed. The dust would be important, no doubt.

During December, he made fast friends with the staff at the nearest B&Q, picking up the wood and screws and stashing them carefully behind bits and pieces of archived experiments. When Sherlock took a case in the north John begged off going, as he’d only just started in their local clinic and “I didn’t warn them about this sort of thing; you said we’d not be running around the country any more, Sherlock. The words ‘semi-retired’ actually willingly crossed your lips,” but Sherlock would not be talked out of the opportunity to show off in Yorkshire, so John took the time alone to try his hand at some amateur carpentry.

 

* * *

 

“You’re making something,” Sherlock told him when he slid in behind John in bed, having gotten a late train home.

“Mmhmm, made, actually,” he replied. He hadn’t lied to Sherlock since telling him he wouldn’t name his daughter after him, and that policy had worked out pretty well. Billie had started university in September, leaving Baker Street feeling oddly empty with just the two of them, and they had moved to the south coast within a month.

“You’re not going to tell me what it is - am I supposed to deduce it?” He rolled his hips against John, who chuckled quietly. Sherlock would likely never let him live down his… fondness for watching Sherlock’s mind at work

“No, love, you’re supposed to leave it for three weeks.”

He could picture Sherlock’s next expression perfectly.

“You’ve made me a _birthday_ present.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll know what it is before Christmas.”

“Maybe you could, but perhaps as a Christmas present to _me_ you could not figure it out before I give it to you.”

Sherlock grumbled into John’s shoulder and he chuckled.

“What, like you were going to bother with presents this year?”

“I always give you a Christmas present,” he insisted, sounding somewhat affronted.

“You always call the sex we have my Christmas or birthday present, and I am not complaining. I’m just suggesting we would - and do - have similarly good sex on non-festive days too. Let it be a surprise, love.”

“Fine. But you’re not getting any Christmas sex.”

“I suppose I’ll have to live with that,” John smiled.

 

* * *

 

Christmas Day began with Billie dumping all the presents that had been under the tree onto John’s chest, then clambering over him to sit cross-legged in the centre of the bed. Sherlock smirked at John when he looked around in aborted alarm.

“W- Billie? What?”

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she said blithely. “Sit up sit up sit up, it’s time to open presents.”

John pushed everything towards Sherlock’s side of the bed and sat up, leaning against the headboard.

“Y’know, it’s a bit rude to just barge in and wake your dad up, even if it is Christmas, honey.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t normally, but -”

“Calm down John, I told her that we would not under any circumstances be having sex this morning. I suspected this may be the result.”

“Oh God.”

Billie smiled beatifically.

“Gonna open a present from Sherlock first, for not trusting me,” she told him, and tore into wrapping paper.

 

* * *

 

Boxing Day began with a very enthusiastic blow job.

 

* * *

 

John worried that Sherlock knew what he had made, and was keeping mum to be polite. To his relief, when he returned from buying ingredients for Sherlock’s birthday dinner with the present he had stashed with a neighbour and handed it over, Sherlock looked surprised.

“It’s heavier than I expected something this size to be,” he admitted, turning the wrapped gift over and over on his lap, careful not to puncture the paper where the shape of the thing made it stretch across empty space.

“Just open it, yeah?”

Sherlock unwrapped presents meticulously, always. John wondered what he could tell from the way he had sticky-taped the paper.

“Oh,” he said quietly, and John enjoyed watching his face flicker through emotions. “A bee house.”

Running fingertips over the carefully-sanded front face, Sherlock’s eyebrows quirked.

“There’s rather a lot of holes for them to live in, John, how many bees do you expect to… Thirteen by seventeen, John, _really_? You comedian.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” John teased.

“It _is_ ,” Sherlock growled, although he rather ruined the grumpy look by pulling John in for a swift kiss.

“There’s a gift card for you as well; I thought you might like to build your own hives.”

“You've rather outdone yourself, my dear...I suppose I’ll have to think of a different present for your birthday now.”

John ran his tongue over his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

“John,” Sherlock murmured, wrapping him in his arms. “Thankyou.”


End file.
